


The Trouble With Love

by Rose Emily (toomuchplor)



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-27
Updated: 2004-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-01 11:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/Rose%20Emily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the film "Love Actually".  9 ways Clark and Lex didn't get together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble With Love

_Love and politics_

Lex sat down and carefully typed the following words into Google: 

monica lewinsky 

Well. About 329,000 hits. Could be worse, Lex mused. 

Then again, he wondered how many hits the search would have generated if it had been Mark Lewinsky going down on the President. 

"Coffee, sir." 

Lex looked up to see his intern's fine ass backing its way into the Oval Office, tugging a tray of mid-afternoon treats along with it. "Thank you," he said as absently as he could, tearing his eyes away from the approaching ass and fixing his gaze on his paperwork. 

"I convinced the cook to include some more Oreos this time, sir," the intern announced, so cheerfully that Lex could _feel_ the kid's grin, even as he resolutely maintained eye contact with the word 'memo'. "I noticed you always eat those." 

Lex nodded. Memo. Memorandum. Latin for -- 

"Sir?" 

"Yes, Clark?" Damn. _Damn_. He shouldn't have used the intern's name. It was a classic slip. Memo. Memo. 

"I'm really glad you're the one in this office. I don't think the other guy would ever eat Oreos." 

It was such a startling pronouncement, Lex looked up in spite of himself. Green eyes, beautiful wide mouth, dark brows and lashes. "I -- well. At least. He wouldn't eat the icing inside first," Lex managed, awkwardly. 

"The inside first?" the intern said with a raised brow. "I'd like to ... see that. Sometime." 

And the young man just pivoted on his heel and marched his way back out of the office. 

"Shit," Lex breathed. With a resigned sigh, he reached for an oreo and twisted it open. 

Well, at least he'd never be a forgettable President. 

* * *

_Love at work_

It was so utterly inappropriate, to be in love with a co-worker, but Lex couldn't help it. And Clark -- he seemed always so sweetly oblivious to Lex's obsession with him, so withdrawn and absorbed by his work, by his investigations with Lois. He was the only one who worked as late as Lex, and sometimes Lex wondered if Clark knew -- that it wasn't that Lex was so dedicated to his job as a copy editor. 

It was that he needed this, this night-time silence and opportunity for observation. That this quiet and solitude was a hundred times better than the silence and loneliness of Lex's apartment, because here, there was Clark. 

Clark, sitting in his shirtsleeves, typing and frowning and occasionally drinking from the cold coffee mug on his desk. 

Lex's phone rang. 

"Hello," he said into it, still staring across at Clark. 

"Are you busy?" 

"Never too busy for you, babe," he assured her. Clark was standing up, pulling on his suit jacket. 

"Lex, they put it in my food," she said urgently. "In my creamed corn." 

"No, babe, they didn't," Lex replied calmly. Clark was glancing across, apparently noticing that he wasn't alone. What did it mean, that Clark stayed here so late? Lex knew his own story, his own woes, but Clark? Gorgeous, brilliant, talented... partnered to the most fiery reporter at the Planet. What kept him here at night with that haunted look of obsession on his face? 

"Lex, it's powdered glass, it cuts at your insides and it --" 

"Hey, hey, no, there's none of that," Lex said hurriedly, coming back to the present, to reality. "You're okay." 

A stifled sob. "Oh, god, Lex, I'm so scared." 

Clark was pausing by Lex's desk, ostensibly to adjust his own coat, but Lex got the impression that he wanted to say something, that he would say something if Lex could only get off the phone in time. 

"I'll come down there, okay?" Lex offered quickly. "Tonight. I'll be there in half an hour." 

"Are you sure? You're not too busy?" 

"Never for you," Lex said, and he didn't mean to flash such a look at Clark while he said it, but he did, and oh god, Clark was looking back. Lex fumbled for the disconnect button, panicked. 

There was a silence that stretched out just a few seconds too long, and then Clark spoke. "You can't -- some people you can't save, you know." 

Lex swallowed, then looked up at Clark. "She's family." Please understand. 

Clark looked at Lex's cell phone for a moment. "It's just ... something I learned in my job. You can't save everyone. If you try, you end up losing yourself in the process." 

Who was he to say that, Clark, who worked late like Lex, who was too consumed by his work to see how much Lex loved him? How much Lois did, for that matter? Lex laughed bitterly without meaning to. "Not much to lose, anymore," he said. 

There was a hot green flare of concern, before Lex dropped his gaze again in terror. Then a moment passed and Clark was walking away into the dark corridor. 

The cell phone rang again. 

"Hey," Lex said into it. 

"When will you be here?" Chloe asked plaintively. 

His sister, it seemed, was the love of his life. 

* * *

_Love rages on_

It was the last thing Clark expected. He had just put the kettle on to boil and was shuffling around his little apartment in his bathrobe, pondering the fact that even though he _looked_ twenty-five, and always would, there were days now that he felt every one of his fifty-odd years. Odd twinges and aches and a general sense of fatigue sometimes washed over him, reminding Clark this this was not a natural immortality, but an enforced one. He was set in his ways, a confirmed old bachelor, used to his space and his work and his routine of battles. 

So the knock on the door was the last thing he expected. 

Clark was far past the point of vanity -- that had faded about a decade ago -- so he didn't particularly care that his robe was old and shabby, that he was answering the door with his hair still spectacularly windblown from his latest exploit. Only Lex Luthor had the nerve to try and start an apocalypse on Christmas Eve. 

And only Lex Luthor could ever look that unruffled afterwards. Leaning in Clark's doorway, half-smiling. Holding a bottle of -- sherry? 

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked with a wicked smile. 

"I -- you," Clark said, brilliantly. "Luthor?" 

"Come on, we just parted ways, what? Two hours ago? I know you're getting up there, agewise, but surely you haven't completely lost it yet," Lex grinned, that sharp conniving old grin of the Smallville days. Clark was instantly seventeen, instantly deferring to Lex's air of authority like he hadn't in over thirty years. He stepped aside and Lex came in. 

"You're supposed to be in jail," Clark managed. 

Lex waved a hand. "What jail could compare with this dump?" he said. "This is punishment enough, Superman." He was surveying Clark's admittedly messy apartment with great calm, as though it hadn't been decades since one of them had set foot in the other's abode. 

"What are you doing here?" Clark asked, closing the door. Lex had changed out of his trademark white suit into something darker, slinkier, more Smallville. "I mean --" 

"It's Christmas," Lex said, as though that were a full explanation. 

Clark gaped, watching Lex dig through his cupboards for glasses. 

"And at Christmas, you spend time with the people you love," Lex added carelessly, twisting the cap off the sherry. "And it occurred to me -- we've both spent more of our adult lives in each other's company than with anyone else." He poured two neat short glasses. 

"Fighting over the fate of the universe," Clark clarified, feeling himself gradually thaw out of abject shock. 

Lex shrugged dismissively. "Call it what you like," he grinned, holding out one glass. "But the fact is, Clark, we've always loved each other, underneath it all. Without great love, there is no great hatred." 

Clark took the glass, his fingers brushing against Lex's. The slight contact made Clark remember how long it had been since he had touched Lex without an intent to harm, to disable. It had been -- too long. 

"You -- love me?" Clark asked, confused. "This has all been about love?" 

Of course it had. Thirty years of the largest-scale lover's quarrel ever to grace the earth. After all, Lex didn't do anything small. 

Lex laughed and smiled at Clark, stepping a bit closer. "What did you think it was about? Power? Money? Good and Evil?" 

"I thought -- you would never forgive me," Clark whispered, and Lex was a bit closer yet. 

Another shrug. "It's Christmas," Lex said, soft and low. 

A kiss, sherry-scented. 

It was the last thing Clark had expected, but it had been the first wish of his heart all along. 

* * *

_Love Terran style_

"I'm going to a wonderful place called Earth," said Kal-El with a wide grin. 

"No," said his father, Jor-El. 

"Yes," Kal-El countered cheerily. 

"Kal-El, you are a strangely demonstrative, blatantly unattractive moron. You will take your place in our family as a politician, as befits you. You will not visit this Earth place simply to satisfy your unnatural desires for physical contact." Jor-El was neatly avoiding each of Kal-El's benevolent attempts at a reassuring pat. "Stop trying to touch me, strange one." 

"On Earth, people touch all the time!" Kal-El stated, waving a hand towards some obscene film on their holoscreen. It was displaying -- of all the disgusting things -- a pair of Earthlings embracing and crying over their long distance telecommunications service. Jor-El was embarrassed to even have it playing in the same room as decent people, but his son was seemingly entranced. 

"This is madness," Jor-El said, manfully suppressing an urge to vomit as the humans stroked each other's visages. 

"I'm leaving tonight," Kal-El declared brightly. "I want to find this man." And the holoscreen changed to an image of some sort of current events forum, with a slender hairless young human presiding. "His name is Lex Luthor. I have been doing some research and he is very fond of this sexual intercourse that humans engage in." 

Jor-El wrinkled his nose. "It is such a primitive method of reproduction." 

"Oh, this isn't for reproduction," Kal-El assured his father. "It is purely for pleasure. I wish to lick him all over." 

Perhaps, Jor-El mused, it was better that his strange son go and visit Earth. Once the boy actually experienced the reality of this activity he sought, surely he would be properly repulsed and would return to Krypton chastened in all senses of the word. 

"All right," Jor-El conceded heavily. "You may go, my son." 

"I am eager to try this thing they call 'rimming'," Kal-El beamed. "It is when one human puts his tongue --" 

Jor-El hastily interjected. "Promise me one thing, Kal-El, in exchange for my blessing." 

Kal-El nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

"Would you at least take the time to conquer this planet while you are visiting? We are running low on slaves again, and these humans seem a likely source, if a bit unsanitary." 

Kal-El paused, thinking. "I promise I will conquer them," he agreed, slowly. "But only once I have grown tired of this bald one." 

"Very well." That should be accomplished in short order, Jor-El thought placidly. He fully expected that Krypton could begin shipping human slaves within a week's time. 

After all, how fascinating could one insignificant human be? 

* * *

_Love as a second language_

In his fairly brief career as a produce delivery boy, Jerome had seen some strange things -- obscene things, disgusting things, bizarre things ... but this monstrosity of a Scottish castle, plunked down squarely in the middle of the Provencale countryside, was one of the strangest. 

Its sole inhabitant ran a close second. He seemed to speak little French and even less Portugese, and yet the man babbled away almost incessantly when Jerome was in the room, speaking English at such a rapid clip that Jerome's ears only caught an occasional word -- 'battle', or 'emperor', or -- once 'beautiful'. Mme. Bousquet had told Jerome that this American gentleman was a great historian, the son of a great businessman, but Jerome privately thought he must be a little looney, to be talking to himself so much. 

He was at it again today while Jerome busied himself, dicing a platter of fresh fruit. Not that the man -- Alexandre, that was it, or the American version thereof -- would even notice. He always said 'thank you' but he never seemed to notice the words leaving his lips. It was merely some instinctive reaction to Jerome's presence. 

Jerome had gotten into the habit of talking back, not out of any hopes that the man would understand him, but simply because it seemed like the companionable thing to do. So, later, as he set down the plate of cut fruit, Jerome said, "You really must eat something. It's not good for you to sit out here all day, typing." The gazebo overlooked the somewhat swampy little pond, but it was pretty at this time of day, with the sun just edging towards the horizon. Americans did all sorts of mad things, but sitting out here in the chilly evening to write a history book seemed at least understandable. 

Of course, the man spat out an automatic babble of gratitude. Jerome grabbed an empty coffee mug, intending to take it in for washing, but no sooner had he lifted the mug, than a sharp gust of wind blew in and took half of the American's manuscript with it, trailing up and then, inevitably, down into the water, scattering pages like white rectangular pond lilies. 

"Oh, damn!" Jerome cried, torn between embarrassment and annoyance, swearing and batting at the papers as they flew towards the water. The cold of the pond wouldn't bother Jerome, but the American might think it strange if he simply leapt in after the papers. Still, it was Jerome's fault that the papers had gone flying, after all. Shouldn't he do something to help? 

It was the man's reaction -- desperate lunging and what sounded like violent swearing -- that made Jerome's decision for him, the cold be damned. 

He took the trouble to strip out of his clothes first, mostly because he knew that his mother would skin him alive if he got his new wool sweater soaking wet with pondwater. Jerome leapt in and began to swim around quickly, gathering up the sodden pages and feigning a shiver. 

A splash nearby was his first warning that the American was even madder than Jerome had suspected. The man was hissing and shouting, presumably about the frigid water temperature. "Are you completely crazy?" Jerome asked, spitting out the water that had splashed into his mouth on the American's arrival. "It's freezing in here! You'll catch your death!" 

Jerome suspected the American was saying the same thing, but he was still swimming around and gathering the loose pages. Jerome watched him a moment, then -- to his own great horror -- burst out laughing. He didn't mean to, only the man looked so pathetic, sopping wet, shivering between bluish lips, cursing and spitting out swampy water, reaching out for sheet after sheet of paper. 

The man stopped when he heard Jerome's laughter, dog-paddling to stay in place, casting _such_ a glare in Jerome's direction. "I'm sorry," Jerome managed, but he was still giggling fitfully. "I'm so sorry," he tried again, earnestly, but -- the blue eyes were dancing a little, even as they tried to keep glaring. Jerome laughed again, giddy now, and then, wonder of wonders, so did the American. 

The smile, the laughter, transformed his whole aspect. Suddenly, the American wasn't just odd and elegant. He was dazzlingly gorgeous, blue lips and all. Jerome left off laughing in his amazement, but something in his eyes must have told the man what Jerome was feeling. 

The man held a page aloft, crumpling it a little and grinning. He declared something, of which Jerome deciphered only one word -- 'shit'. Then, with a more hesitant smile, he spoke again. This time, Jerome got more of it. "You," the American said, "... very _beau_ ... like to ... oh, fuck." 

Jerome smiled back, paddling a bit closer. "You," he said, encouragingly. " _Beijar_?" 

As he leaned in to provide a practical translation, Jerome found himself wondering if spending too much time around the American had made him a little mad, too. 

* * *

_Love lasts a lifetime_

Lex had known, really, even before the Planet Christmas party. Because there was Clark stressed out and distracted, and then there was Clark dreamy and abstracted, and Lex didn't need most of his genius IQ to tell the difference. 

So all he had gotten from that evening at the Planet had been a face. A name. 

He had tested Clark that evening as they got undressed, Amelia sleeping in the next room with her teddy bear tucked under her chin. "Jimmy Olsen is hot -- must be nice, having that little tight ass running around for you." 

And Clark, ever the awful liar, had dissembled. "You think he's hot?" 

"You know he is." God, Smallville all over again, this tense knot of anger and pain in Lex's throat. "Goodnight, Clark." Lex had forced his thoughts away to other things -- the newest acquisitions at work, Amelia's upcoming parent-teacher interview, anything and everything that could distract him from what was happening. Once upon a time, Lex's curiosity had been a sharp edge, a bright unstoppable force, but nowadays, it was a muted impulse, something Lex feared. And so he pretended that everything was fine. 

But now there was no pretending. There was an open box in Lex's hand, there was a plum-coloured silk tie winking up at him, and somewhere out there, god, somewhere not so very far away, Jimmy Olsen was smiling down at that exquisitely tooled set of platinum cufflinks that Lex had found in Clark's coat pocket only days before. 

"Daddy bought you a tie," Amelia observed with characteristic four-year-old acuity, then set herself on the task of opening her own gift. 

And Clark was looking over at Lex with that feigned-myopic large-eyed innocence that was part of his civilian disguise, as though Lex wouldn't recognize that look and know it for the pretense it was. "I saw it and it reminded me of when we first met," he explained with a wide smile, leaning in for his reward kiss. 

"You --" Lex said, automatically kissing. "I -- Amelia, you're only allowed to open one present tonight," he managed, deflecting his attention back to his daughter. "Come on, princess, it's bedtime for little girls. Santa won't come if you're still awake." 

And it was calming, relaxing, to be this for Amelia: father, caregiver, all-knowing and endlessly trusted. She was far too young for deception, so young that she didn't see through Lex's facade anymore than she could grasp Superman as being Clark, or Santa as being a grown-up ploy for early bedtimes on Christmas Eve. "What do you think Santa is bringing you?" Lex asked, snuggling in beside his daughter on her narrow ruffly bed. 

"A puppy," Amelia said confidently. "And a brother." 

"In that order?" Lex asked. "If you could only have one, which would you have?" 

Clark was darkening the doorway, but Lex ignored him, kissing Amelia's baby-silk hair. 

"If I could only have one?" she repeated thoughtfully. "Then I want a pony instead." 

Lex laughed, heard Clark laughing. "You're a very reasonable little girl, aren't you?" 

"Yes," she answered confidently. "Now go away so I can go to sleep, Daddy. Santa won't come if I'm still awake." 

They both laughed again, Lex squeezing Amelia's skinny shoulders, Clark staying in the doorway. 

But she was right, she had to sleep, and Lex -- he had to give up this game. 

Clark was loading the dishwasher. Lex leaned up on the counter next to him. "We promised each other honesty a long time ago, Clark," he said, quietly. 

Clark straightened up, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "We -- yes. I know." 

"I know about the cufflinks," Lex said, unable to make eye contact. "I know about Jimmy. Not that I've had a surveillance team on you, not that I know exactly _what_ you've been up to, Clark, but -- I know." 

Clark was very still. Lex could almost feel the cloak of normalcy dropping away. 

"Don't tell me nothing happened," Lex urged, surprising himself. "Don't lie to me. And don't tell me what _did_ happen. All I want to know is -- should I stay? Or should Amelia and I go?" 

Clark, when Lex risked a glance, was breathing very quickly, trying not to panic, Lex could see. He had dreamed this scenario so many times fifteen years ago, back when it was about Clark's other secrets, and that final disclosure had been so different, so peaceful and passionate and simple, Lex had thought the old fear of this moment had long since been buried. And yet, here they were, back at the beginning. 

"Clark?" Lex prompted. Once he'd thought that the worst accusation he could hurl at Clark would be to call him 'not human'. And now, the worst thing about Clark seemed to be his humanity. His fallibility. Susceptible to flattery and lust, just like every other man on Earth. 

Slowly, Clark lifted his gaze. "Lex, I'm an idiot." Begging for forgiveness, oh christ, he'd slept with that little slut, Lex was going to be sick. 

"You're -- I'm going to the penthouse in the city tomorrow," Lex said, unable to process this. 

"No, Lex, please!" Clark cried, reaching out as Lex slipped away. 

He had been fooling himself all along -- the epic love, the friendship of legend -- and Clark had obviously never believed a word, or he wouldn't have done this, he couldn't have. Lex suddenly saw how ridiculous he must have seemed to Clark, spouting all those grandiose lines only to end up here, wiping a child's nose and pinning tempra-paint artwork on the wall, growing older and more complacent, while Clark lived a life of danger and glory. Of course the kid at the office had been tempting, Lex had hardly been living up to his promises... "You value me so little," Lex said, in a low voice. "You would do this to us, to our life." 

"I'm so sorry, Lex, I swear," Clark said, brokenly. "Oh, god, Lex, please just -- I'm so stupid." 

Lex really was going to be sick -- he was looking at the sink and wondering if he could make it across the kitchen in time -- when there was a sound from upstairs. Amelia. 

"We'll talk after Christmas," Lex said, moving towards the noise. "We'll have Christmas first, for her." 

One love to last a lifetime, Lex thought bitterly. Soulmates. Legendary partners. Clark had never really believed it, that much was clear. He had loved Lex -- might still love him -- but Lex didn't know if things would ever be right again, now that he knew. Now that he saw just how human Clark really was. 

* * *

_Love is awkward_

"Right, uh, Clark, this is Alex, he's the stand-in for Jude, and Alex, Clark is here for Heath. We'll be getting started in about five, so if you could both --" 

"Right," Clark said hastily, tearing his gaze away from the man opposite, and the PA rushed off. 

"It's Lex, actually," said the man, smiling a little. "Not Alex." 

"Lex, got it," Clark grinned. God, this was not the right time to get enamoured of his co-worker, not when in twenty minutes, there'd be a dozen people focused on them while they -- 

"Five minutes," Lex said, interrupting Clark's thoughts. "We'd better..." 

"Yes. We should..." Clark agreed absently. "Cold out today, isn't it?" 

"Freezing -- the heater in my car's on the fritz, I drove here with mitts on the whole way," Lex replied with audible relief. "Are you left-handed?" 

"Uh, no, right. You?" 

"Left," said Lex. "That will complicate things a little." 

"Well, I can fake a left if we need it," Clark answered, then wondered if that sounded boastful. "I mean, if it helps." 

"I can fake right, too. Should be okay, then," Lex said with some relief. "Did you see in the paper about that bank manager in Topeka?" 

"Unbelievable, huh?" Clark said, smiling again. God, Lex was cute. No, cute wasn't the right word. Clark sneaked another sideways glance. Handsome wasn't it either. But whatever he was, Clark liked it. "Can we -- I'm sorry, I wish I'd thought of this, but would you mind if we just warmed up a bit before the director gets here?" 

"Oh, not at all," Lex smiled, and promptly stripped off his shirt. 

Clark's brain resumed functioning approximately twenty seconds later, while Lex was already maneuvering Clark's hands around his torso, telling Clark things about blocking and angles. All Clark could manage to understand was the feel of that fine soft pale skin under his fingers, which looked huge and clumsy by contrast. 

"Okay, try the move," Lex urged. 

Clark tried it, hoping desperately that this was the move that Lex had been referring to. Luckily, it seemed to be -- the follow-through was fluid and Clark sensed, in the part of his mind that was still functioning, that Lex was one of those rare finds, a colleague whose body and motions were absolutely well-suited to Clark's own. It had only happened a few times before, but when it did, it made the whole job that much simpler. 

"Getting started without me, are you?" spoke Liam, the scene blocker, and Lex and Clark broke apart with a laugh. "Looks good, looks excellent, gentlemen. Now, if we can just talk this through a bit..." 

They talked, and walked, and finally ran the whole sequence. Luckily today wasn't a shooting day, so there was no fuss with make-up or lighting. It was only a rehearsal, which made Clark confident that he would have this growing crush on the wane again by the time the actual shoot happened. But still, Lex felt so _right_ under Clark's hands, so perfect, his actions so easily foretold, their choreography seemed to flow effortlessly. Even Liam, a notorious grumbler, noticed it. "This will be fine," he said at the end of the rehearsal. "See you both in a week's time." 

Lex pulled on his shirt again, and Clark stood by, wondering if he should wait for his chance to say goodbye or if it would be more polite to take his leave and not run the risk of being caught ogling his co-worker's bare chest. 

In the end, he opted for waiting. 

"That went well," Lex said, tugging at his waistband. "Don't you think?" 

Clark smiled. "Very well. We -- um. We fit." 

It sounded awfully suggestive as soon as Clark heard the words hanging in the air, and he looked away, wondering if he should explain what he meant. 

"It's true," Lex said, handing Clark his coat. "We do fit." 

Clark looked back at Lex, startled by this agreement, and blinked with alarm at the expression he found there... Lex was looking at Clark with a warm glow of admiration. If it was inappropriate, at least it was reciprocated. 

"It'd be too hard to do this, if --" Clark blurted, before he could rethink it. "I mean, after the film is wrapped--" 

"Why wait?" Lex said, and he had somehow gotten a hold of Clark's hand and was stroking the back of it with his thumb. "Come on, let's go and grab a drink." 

"Well, I don't think I can do -- this. If I had _feelings_ ," Clark said, awkwardly, but Lex interrupted. 

"Clark -- just a drink. I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend, you know." Lex dropped Clark's hand. "Besides, even if we _did_ end up dating, we'd only be adding to the performance. Homoerotic tension between these two characters is practically written into the script. Why do you think there are so many fight sequences that need stunt doubles in this film? All those sweaty scenes with the two of them grappling away..." 

Clark burst out laughing with surprise. "Good point." He reclaimed Lex's hand, shyly. "Just a drink?" 

Lex nodded and they broke the contact again, each digging for their car keys. "You know," Lex said, "I always wanted to be a superhero. I guess being Warrior Angel's stunt is as close as I'm gonna get." 

"Funny thing," Clark said, extracting his own keys. "Because I always wanted a Warrior Angel of my very own." 

* * *

_Love unspoken_

Lex was curled around Clark like a giant cat, and that made it even more difficult for Clark to extricate himself calmly and gracefully while all the time, it felt like his head was about to explode. 

//Go outside// ordered the hypersonic voice in his head. //Don't let him know anything's wrong. Tell him you left a gift out in the car.// 

"I just remembered," Clark said, kissing Lex's ear fondly. "I left one of your gifts in the car. I'll just jog down and grab it." 

Lex snorted, hitting the mute button on the TV. "You forgot to buy it, didn't you?" he asked smugly. "Well, the stores are still open in Asia. Hurry back." 

Clark laughed, resisting the urge to shake his head like a dog, wanting to shake that high-pitched whistle out of his brain. Jor-El had picked a hell of a time to resume his torture of Clark, if that was what this was... Christmas Eve, of all things. 

He pulled on his coat, even though he didn't need it, and slipped out of the apartment, making his way down to the lobby. 

He had just stepped out the front door when a note fluttered to the ground beside his feet. "Up," it said simply. Clark sighed, then walked into the alley and quickly took off, heading for the top of the building. Not Jor-El, then. Some idiot supervillain, out to ruin Clark's Christmas, trying to make his first year with Lex less than perfect. 

It was rare that Superman got in a pissy mood like this one, Clark mused, stripping out of his civvies and tugging at his boots. There was no one visible on the roof, but that didn't mean anything. Clark scanned the horizon for helicopters, but heard nothing. 

"I walked," said a voice, by the doorway to the stairwell. A figure moved in the shadows, and Clark released a sigh of relief. No one did shadows and intrigue as well as Batman. Clark had been worried there for a minute. 

"You had me going--" Clark began, laughing. Bruce had always been big with the surprises, had always gotten Lex, and now Clark, the most outrageously extravagant gifts. There had been the Justice League fly-by at their wedding. There had been something even more scandalous at Lex's bachelor party, if the rumours were true. And yet, up until a week ago, Clark had been convinced that Bruce hated Clark. Professionally, the man never let anything slip, emotional or otherwise. But in person, as Bruce Wayne, all the billionaire's attention and considerable charm had always been for Lex, his old classmate. Clark, he had treated with disinterest bordering on distaste. 

That was, up until last week, when on a mission, Clark had burst unannounced into the Batcave, seeking assistance. 

And stumbled onto Batman's unsurpassed collection of Clark Kent memorabilia. It had made Lex's old blue room look like two old ratty baseball cards next to a complete mint-condition set. 

Clark hadn't said anything, because the surveillance in the Cave had already recorded everything Bruce needed to know. And besides, there was nothing to say. Clark was in love with Lex. He had married Lex. He found Bruce's obsession flattering and maybe a bit creepy, but he couldn't possibly let it affect their working relationship. And if Lex ever found out ... well. 

Now, Bruce stepped out of the shadows -- yes, Bruce, not Batman, Bruce in a long trenchcoat, but no hat. Going plainclothes. "Don't speak," Bruce said, then held up his hand and clicked a button on a device he was holding. 

//I know you found that room in the cave last week// said the hypersonic voice, which Clark now recognized as Bruce's own. //I am here to offer an explanation, but I wish to make it clear that I have no hopes or expectations arising from this meeting. I only want to give you the truth. Consider it my Christmas gift to you.// 

Clark blinked, nodded. 

//Everyone jokes, in the Justice League, about how unstable I am, how twisted.// 

Clark began to protest, but Bruce shook his head. "Silent." 

//That being said, there are two pure things in my heart. One, you all know about -- it is my passion for crime-fighting, for justice.// 

Bruce sighed, as though he knew what the recording was about to say. 

//The other thing, the thing that keeps me going, that keeps me sane and focussed... is you. To me, you are perfect.// 

A long pause followed, in which Clark had about twenty impulses -- laughter, sobbing, escape, embracing -- all following in such quick succession that Clark ended up staying absolutely still, feeling the magnitude of those words resound inside. 

//I am a broken man, broken beyond the telling of it. Beyond the mending of it. And yet, my broken heart will love you until the day when it destroys itself, as it someday must.// 

Bruce's eyes locked on Clark's, and for a terrifying moment, Clark understood that Bruce was telling the absolute truth, about how wounded he was, and about how he loved Clark. It was startling, unexpected to say the least, but it moved Clark deeply. 

//I brought you a gift to take back to him,// Bruce's voice said, and at that moment, by some unknown cue, Bruce extended a hand and held out a small package. //GPS cufflinks. He's always wanted some.// 

Clark took the package, aware of his fingers brushing Bruce's, aware that this brief contact, all the minute moments like these when they touched inadvertently, must be catalogued in detail in the twisted museum that was Bruce's mind. 

//Merry Christmas,// said the voice, and the hypersonic whine abruptly died. Bruce turned away, reaching for the stairwell doorknob, but Clark had to -- do something. 

Grabbed Bruce's shoulder, spun him around to face Clark, and planted a kiss. Tender and deep and brief, but Clark had to do this, had to acknowledge this moment. 

"Merry Christmas," Clark whispered against Bruce's mouth, then whisked back into his street clothes and flew away. 

Back home, to Lex. 

But as he left, he heard Bruce murmur, just at the edge of Clark's auditory range. 

"Enough. Enough now." 

* * *

_Love is elementary_

Heart still pounding, wondering how it was that his father had gone from grimly forbidding Clark to use his powers to egging him on as he sped past airport security, Clark just ... stared. 

And Lex stared back. 

Clark was vaguely aware of Lex's parents -- his formidable father, his frail mother -- standing a few feet away, but all his focus was for Lex. Clark didn't think he'd ever seen a more perfectly beautiful twelve year old. 

"Clark?" he asked, a smile curving onto his lips. 

"You know my name," Clark sighed, startled and exultant. 

"Of course I do," Lex replied easily, smiling a bit more. Then, in front of the airport security and the flight attendants and his parents and everyone, Lex just leaned forward and kissed Clark on the lips. It was fleeting and breathlessly gentle. Clark only had the impression of a vanilla flavour, and then it was gone. 

"I love you," Clark exhaled, helplessly. 

Blue eyes blinked a little, maybe startled. "I'll be back in summertime," Lex promised. "Boarding school lets out then." 

Then followed the sweetest young breath of a smile, whispering across Clark's heart, making everything -- all the suffering, everything that had happened since Mom had died -- worthwhile. 

Clark watched as Lex turned and took his mother's hand to walk through the gate. Even as his heart broke a little from watching Lex leave, he knew. 

This was just the beginning of their story. 


End file.
